mattie୨ৎ

⊹₊⟡⋆love looks pretty on you ⊹₊⟡⋆ over 18!

[lumosflairr]

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🫧 Hi there!! Call me Mattie, she/her, gemini, INFP-T, gryffindor, minor friendly (unless specified), heavy passion for reading and writing, fic recs + ramblings, just a girl with a keyboard and too many feelings, all my writings under #lumosflair, weasley lover, lana coded 🌸🍒📼💗💿 🩰🎀

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[lumosflairr]

long time no see…hey guys 👯‍♀️

[singulart0ast-deactivated202607]

Exposure

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: When you send some inspiring photos to your super soldier boyfriend while he’s away on a mission, you don’t expect such an enthusiastic response. Tags/Warnings: established relationship, male masturbation, phone sex in a public place, sending nudes Word Count: 840

My wife @buckysdecaflove said BET and who am I to deny her?

You’d sent them before you fell asleep last night.

It was late, but that didn’t mean a thing when you didn’t know what time zone your super soldier superhero boyfriend was currently in. You’d switched off all but the bedside lamp as you undressed for the evening. Catching sight of your body in the mirror, glowing in the soft amber light, coupled with the ache of missing him, lended you some confidence.

You posed for him. A cheeky hand placement here, a little drool dripping from your open mouth to your chest there, and texted the photos through with a simple kiss emoji.

The photos already forgotten about the next morning, you were delightfully surprised to see your boyfriend calling as you rushed down the station stairs to catch your train.

“Hey, baby,” you breathed as you slipped through the double door of the train, clutching your bag closer to your body and making your way into the carriage.

“There she is.”

His voice crackled, but the heartbeat delay of the international call did nothing to hide the roughness of his tone or the way his voice wound through you like wine, warming you and settling hot and deep within.

“Bucky, where are you?”

A pause. “Can’t say.”

There’s soft sounds in the background. Cloth rustling, the creaky ping of tired old bedsprings, and Bucky’s breath huffing in the receiver.

“Are you okay?” You ask, the seed of worry beginning to grow in your mind.

But Bucky has his own unique way of setting you at ease and sending your heart soaring in the same breath.

“Okay? I’m about to combust from those pics you sent, doll.”

Oh.

Oh.

“You liked that, did you?” You murmur, trying to keep your voice low.

His ragged groan in response had you biting your lip, your eyes darting to your feet to hide your pleasure at the sound.

“Got me hard as a nail thinkin’ about you all naked and pretty alone in our bed. You touch yourself thinkin’ o’ me, babe?”

You hadn’t, not last night, but what was a little lie to help his situation? “Yes,” you breathed, a fluttering hand rising to your chest as your heartbeat spiked.

He groaned again and you heard more popping of bedsprings, and suddenly you realised exactly what your super soldier was doing out there all alone.

“Bet you sounded so fuckin’ pretty whimpering and aching f’me,” he rasped, his voice breaking with stuttered breaths. “Wanna bite that gorgeous skin of yours, doll. Wanna feel you under me and fu—fuck those tits while you drool all over my cock.”

Biting back the whimper that threatened to spill out of you, you pressed your hand firm against your mouth, eyes darting around at the passengers crowded close.

“Bucky,” you murmured in warning, “I’m on the train to work right now.”

“Funny, ‘cause I wanna fucking rail you right now.”

Squeezing your eyes shut and your thighs together, you breathed heavily out your nose as you listened to the unmistakeable sound of skin on skin and Bucky’s ragged breath as he jerked off at the thought of you.

“Wanna… wanna fuck that sweet pussy of yours,” he grunted, and you imagined the way his hand was fisting the head of his cock, how he’d spit into his palm and fuck up into his hand pretending it was you riding him. “Wanna get so deep you feel me f’days. Get you so wet and cockdrunk you just take it all and beg for more.”

The tangy taste of metal flooded your mouth as you bit your lip so hard to not utter a sound.

Your stop was coming soon.

It sounded like Bucky was too.

“When you’re home,” you promise him, your voice thready and soft, and just the sound alone makes him groan louder, move faster. You try to rub your thighs together to soothe the ache he’s built within you.

“‘M gonna … gonna cum, doll. Need to. Need you.”

His voice stuttered, his words barely a low moan of sound, and you nodded even though he couldn’t see. “Do it,” you told him on a whisper. “Do it now.”

The ding! of the arriving station couldn’t cover up his groan as he came, the sound setting your skin on fire and making you swallow hard as you unsteadily stepped off the train.

“Baby, I miss you,” you told him, voice more confident now you were moving.

“Home tomorrow,” he grunted. “Miss you too.”

You had to leave. You said your heartfelt goodbye and dashed away a small tear as you hung up on him, walking the few blocks to your workplace.

Until a notification sound had you looking at your phone again.

A message from Bucky.

You opened your phone to the glorious sight of your boyfriend splayed out on a rickety old mattress on the floor, his shirt hiked up and cock hard, with the telltale streaks of hot cum splattered across his stomach.

And the text.

Thinking of you x

tags ! @tw1sters @sassandscribbles @nocturnebarnes @buckysdecaflove @epiphanyrogers @quantumbarnes @kileyking !

[djo]

The bard, craving knowledge, makes his way to the Mage’s Guild of Enclave, where he spends his days in their vast libraries. Though deeply devoted to his studies, he still makes time for the occasional adventure. 

STRANGER THINGS 5.08: The Rightside Up

[thegloriousrevolution]

She kissed the door. She kissed her goodbye.

[lumosflairr]

oh how i UGLY cried.

[lumosflairr]

thinking about... Bucky teaching you how to slow dance ♡

soft bucky has my heart 🥹

taglist: none. lmk if your interested <3

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the kettle warming on the stove. You were wiping down the counter when the old record player Bucky kept tucked on top of the bookshelf crackled alive.

You stopped momentarily, looking around. “Buck? Did you turn that on?”

Bucky peeked around the corner, sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe.”

“Why?” you asked, drying your hands on a dish towel.

He stepped into the doorway fully, leaning his shoulder against the frame. His hair was still damp from his shower, curling softly at the ends, grey henley clinging to him in a way that should have been illegal. “I found an old record. Thought you’d like it.”

The gentle, scratchy melody filled the kitchen—something soft, vintage, from the era before the world went upside-down for him.

You smiled, heart warming. “It’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on you instead of the player. “It is.”

You paused. “What are you doing, Barnes?”

He pushed off the doorframe, making his way toward you with that slow, confident stroll he definitely knew drove you crazy. “I was thinking,” he said, voice low, “that you don’t know how to slow dance.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Wow, rude.”

He smirked. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, doll. Just an observation.”

“I do know how to slow dance,” you insisted.

Bucky stopped right in front of you, close enough for you to smell the faint traces of his aftershave— warm cedar and something distinctly him. “Show me, then.”

Your mouth opened… then closed. “Okay, maybe I don’t know how to slow dance well.”

“That’s what I thought.” He held out a hand, palm up, metal fingers glinting softly in the warm kitchen light. “C’mere. Lemme teach you.”

You hesitated for a breath too long, and Bucky’s face softened.

“We don’t have to,” he said quietly. “Only if you want to.”

You slipped your hand into his. “I want to.”

The smile he gave you then— small, warm, something he didn’t show the world often— made your knees go a little weak.

He pulled you gently toward the center of the kitchen, right between the stove and the sink. The music wrapped around the two of you like a blanket.

“Okay,” he murmured. “First rule: you let me lead.”

“Bossy.”

“Mhmm. And you love it.”

You tried not to smile. Failed.

Bucky placed one hand at your waist, warm and grounding. The other held yours, thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles as if memorizing the shape of you. “Now,” he whispered, “put your hand here.”

He guided your other hand to his shoulder.

Your fingers curled into the soft material of his shirt without thinking. “Oh,” you breathed. “This isn’t so hard.”

He chuckled, low and fond. “We haven’t done anything yet.”

Bucky took the first step, guiding you back with the gentle pressure of his hand at your waist. You followed— poorly. Your foot bumped his.

“Sorry!”

“You’re good,” he said, pulling you closer as if to steady you. “Just relax.”

“You’re very close,” you mumbled.

“That’s the idea, doll.”

You swallowed. Loudly.

He leaned down just a little, breath brushing your cheek. “You okay?”

“Yea. Not at all overwhelmed by your stupid face.”

“My stupid face?” he laughed. “That’s new.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

He gently nudged your feet into position. “Just follow me. Let the music tell you what to do.”

“Music doesn’t talk.”

“It does,” he said softly. “If you let it.”

For a few heartbeats, you did let it. You let him lead, your bodies moving slowly, unhurried, swaying more than dancing— but it felt right. Natural. Warm.

“You’re doing good,” he murmured.

“Are you surprised?”

“Not surprised.” His thumb brushed your hip. “Just proud.”

You stumbled again— maybe on purpose this time, and your hand clutched his shoulder to steady yourself. “Wow, thanks, Dad.”

He snorted. “Don’t call me that while we’re dancing. It ruins the mood.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow. “There’s a mood?”

“There’s definitely a mood,” he said, and this time his voice was unmistakably flirtatious, the kind that made your heart trip over itself. “But I can stop, if you want.”

You didn’t want him to. At all.

So you stepped a little closer, closing the already small gap between you.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you said quietly.

His breath hitched.

His metal hand flexed at your waist before settling more firmly. “Good,” he whispered.

The music swelled softly, wrapping around you both. Bucky guided you into an easy turn— slow, careful, like you were something breakable he wanted to protect with everything he had.

“See?” he murmured. “You’re a natural.”

“You’re just good at leading.”

“No,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “You’re good at trusting me.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Is that what this is?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

You swayed together, breaths syncing, foreheads drifting close enough to brush. Bucky’s eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up— slow, intentional, asking a question without words.

“Buck…” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Why not?”

He smiled softly, fingers tightening at your waist. “Because you look like something I used to dream about.”

Your heart stopped.

“Bucky,” you breathed, overwhelmed.

He leaned in, lips brushing yours like a question. “Can I?”

You nodded— once, gentle, certain.

His mouth captured yours in a slow, tender kiss that felt like the music itself— warm, old-fashioned, something sweet he’d kept hidden until now. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as if memorizing you. You melted into him, fingers sliding into his hair, drawing a soft sound from his throat.

When you finally pulled back, both breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Still think I’m bossy?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes,” you said.

“You love it,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Yeah… I do.”

He kissed you again.. just because he could.

[superbassbuck]

I ♥ MY BOYFRIEND!

pairing: beefy!bucky barnes x girlfriend!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexual tension and sex, dirty talk, tooth-rotting fluff, arguments and detachment, after care, praise, jealousy, age gap (obvi, but it's evident here), grumpy!bucky, soft!bucky, cat dad barnes, size difference (he's so beefy), sunshine and grumpy. pet names: "doll" "sweetheart" "baby"

word count: 4.7k masterlist

a/n: totally not a self indulgent fic of what dating beefy bucky barnes would be like, so no real plot.

synopsis: Bucky Barnes never imagined he’d be ready for a relationship. Maybe he still isn't fully, but being with you has shown him just how much his world can change for the better through soft, vulnerable moments.

Bucky Barnes never expected to find himself in a relationship—not anytime soon, and perhaps not even in this lifetime. That is, until he met you, and then he fell in love without even understanding the true meaning of it.

Every day for Bucky before you was a life he didn’t truly live. He walked every day following the same routine, spoke consistently to the same few people (Sam and the old man who worked as the grocery clerk), and some days, he would go by without uttering a single word.

He thought he was fine with this life. But after meeting you, he didn’t want to live his life any other way.

You were his complete opposite, in every good way possible.

You filled his quiet moments with long, rambling strings of words.

Bucky lay sprawled out on the couch, the size of his body swallowing the damn space. He picked up a book that he had intended to actually read, but the moment he settled on the couch and you tugged lightly at his sleeve, guiding his head into your lap, all intentions dissolved.

He wasn’t reading.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, threading through the soft, long strands that you love. Bucky let out a slow breath, the quiet exhales that only ever came out when he was around you. His eyes fluttered shut, taking in your presence and touch as he felt his whole body sink deeper into the cushions—into you.

Meanwhile, you were on your third tangent of the day.

“… and honestly, the basil looked fine, but the woman at the store kept telling me that it was spoiled—which, by the way, I don’t think it was—and besides, if it was spoiled, why the hell would they keep it in the stores?”

He turned the page of his book, eyes unfocused and not absorbing a single word printed on it. The only thing he absorbed was the sound of your voice—warm, animated, and very familiar.

He loved this. He loved you like this. The way your thoughts raced, the way your hands idly played with the ends of his hair. The way you never expected him to fill the silence—the way you let him simply exist.

Most people talked at him—always staring at him weirdly if he took a second too long to respond. But you talked to him. Around him. With him. Like you wanted him there, even if he stayed quiet the whole time.

“—and then I realized the reason the oven wasn’t heating was because I never actually turned it on, which is kind of embarrassing, because I was starting to get pissed off. I wanted dinner to be ready by the time you got home—”

A quiet hum escaped him, low in his chest, not mocking but acknowledging. Encouraging you to keep going, to keep rambling, to keep being you.

Your fingers paused for a brief second. “Are you even listening?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, turning his cheek against your thigh, the stubble grazing against your leg and making it tickle, just so he could look up at you. His eyes were half-lidded, so soft that it melted you.

You loved this. You loved seeing your boyfriend—usually gruff and grumpy—so soft and smitten with you. His body lying defenseless and lazily over yours in his soft cotton pajamas, his long dark hair sprawled messily over your thighs.

And what you loved especially, was that he was only this soft with you.

“I’m listening,” he murmured tiredly. “I like hearing you talk.”

You couldn’t help but smile, looking down at him. “You do?” you teased.

“Mm.” He hummed, closing his eyes again, letting your hand resume its gentle strokes.

“Then why do you still have that book in your hands?”

You pulled him out of his comfort zone by taking him to a dive bar.

He never expected to find himself in places like that. Bars meant loud noises and suspicious crowds. He would never go there himself—at least, not willingly.

When you told him you wanted him to meet some of your friends, he stiffened almost immediately—an involuntary pull back into himself. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching, and that same bitter, glaring look he always had that he was too bad at hiding.

“Baby,” he had muttered. “Bars aren’t really my thing.”

And you had smiled, soft and warm, as if you already knew he would say that, and he truly had no way out. “I know. But this one’s small and low-key. These people mean a lot to me, and I want them to meet the person who means the most to me.”

And just like that, he was doomed.

He’d go anywhere if you looked at him like that.

So now, here he was, standing outside the weather-worn door of a dingy dive, a neon sign flickering above him. He was just about ready to grab your hand and drag you back home himself.

But the minute he stepped inside, he hovered at the entrance, taking everything in.

It wasn’t as loud as he expected it to be; just a comfortable sound of conversation. The place smelled like wood polish, cigarettes, and good beer. A jukebox in the corner played—he didn’t recognize the song, but he liked the beat of it.

The wooden floors creaked under his boots—and when he heard people laugh, he stiffened up.

Were they laughing at him?

But as always, as if you read his thoughts, you wrapped an arm around his bicep, giving it a light squeeze through his leather jacket, batting your lashes at him cutely as you offered your comforting words.

“You’ll be okay,” you reassured softly. “I’m right here.”

When you introduced him to your friends—he expected weird glances and stares, and he was fully prepared to back out. But instead, they just… talked to him. They didn’t tiptoe around him like he was fragile glass or a ticking bomb. They didn’t question him about his past. They didn’t stare at the metal peeking through the sleeve his jacket.

They just accepted him.

A couple of guys at the bar even pulled him into a conversation about simple stuff. Work. Music. A new pool table the owner blew half his savings on.

“You shoot?” one of them asked.

Bucky hesitated only for a second before shrugging. “Not really.”

But they pulled him in and started playing anyway. And to your surprise—he played well. One of the guys whistled with a beer in hand. “Hot damn, boy. You hustling us?”

Bucky shook his head, leaning against the table. “Nah,” he said. “Just lucky.”

You watched from the side, chin resting on your hand, absolutely smitten with him. He pretended he didn’t notice—though he very much did. If going to a bar and being half-decent at billiards was enough to impress you and make you stare at him like that, then he wouldn’t mind being here every week.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky let himself enjoy something that wasn’t quiet or predictable. He liked the low lights, he liked the music, and he liked the sound of your laughter mixing with everyone else’s.

But then, of course, something had to go sideways.

You were just stepping away from the booth to grab a drink when someone slid in your path. Some young guy—too confident and way too damn handsy—leaned in a little too close, an unflattering grin stretching wide. No charisma, no charm, just straight up creepy.

“Hey there,” the guy said. “Didn’t think someone as pretty as you belonged in a place like this.”

You stiffened. “I’m just getting a drink.”

“Yeah? You want one on me?”

“No, thanks—”

Before you could take another step, a sharp crack sliced clean through the room. It was loud enough to silence a few nearby conversations.

Half the bar turned toward the pool table, and Bucky stood there—completely stone cold still, holding one half of the billiards cue he’d just snapped clean in half, staring down at you and the man who dared to approach you.

“Hey,” the bartender spoke up. “You need to pay for that.”

But his words were left unanswered. Bucky dropped the broken cue on the table, then he started walking towards you.

You turned to face the man with a wary look. “You should go—”

The poor man barely had time to register your warning before a big, familiar broody shadow swallowed the space beside you.

Bucky stepped between you, his expression unreadable with a slight crease between his brow. His presence alone was enough to make the guy stumble one step back slightly.

“What’s your problem, man?” the guy scoffed, though the wobble in his voice betrayed him.

Bucky didn’t react. With the height difference, he had to lean down—and spoke quietly yet sternly. “She told you no.”

The guy swallowed hard, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with the brooding ex-soldier in front of him. No one in the bar spoke, and your friends gave each other worried glances as they watched from a distance.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his posture creepily still. “You hear me?”

“Hey, man, I wasn’t— I wasn’t trying anything,” the guy stammered.

“You’re gonna walk away,” Bucky murmured. “Right now. And you’re never gonna talk to her again. Understand?”

The man bobbed his head quickly. “Yeah—yeah, okay.” He practically tripped over his own feet trying to get away, pushing through the small crowd that formed near the exit. Only when he disappeared out the doors did Bucky's shoulders loosen.

He turned to you finally, his eyes scanning you up and down, checking for anything wrong—even though nothing had happened. His voice dropped, soft and worried.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he raised a hand, gently caressing your cheek.

You nodded, still trying to bite back a grin from the sudden shift. “Yeah. I’m okay. I could’ve handled that, you know?”

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—smug and sarcastic, his signature look.

“Sure you could’ve,” he teased. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone one last time before he dropped his hand and laced his fingers with yours. “Come on.”

He tugged you gently towards the pool table, the tension in the room still robust. Half the bar was still staring—either impressed, terrified, or trying very hard to pretend they hadn’t witnessed the casual destruction of bar property.

Bucky, of course, was completely oblivious.

“Play billiards with me,” he said, grabbing a new cue off the wall like he hadn’t just snapped the last one in half. “I’m starting to get the hang of this thing.”

You snorted, following behind him. “Oh, are you?”

“Mhm,” he chalked the cue with that same smug little grin. “A couple more games and I might be a regular here.”

You raised a brow, gesturing subtly around the room—the wide eyes, the whispering, and the bartender glaring him down for breaking his cue.

“Well,” you drawled. “That is… if you don’t get kicked out.”

You started to take over his silent days with music. Good, loud music.

Back in the forties, Glenn Miller was everywhere. Doris Day was everyone's favorite. The soft, and “vintage” sounds brought him comfort. Sam would suggest listening to other songs—Marvin Gaye. He was fond of that. But he’d always return to the comfort and familiarity of swing music.

That is, until you were showering and blasting songs from the speaker, and he found himself nodding his head to the beat.

When you got out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and the mirrors fogged over, he opened the bathroom door without knocking.

“What was that song you were playing?” he asked bluntly.

You raised your brow, facing the mirror as you squeezed toothpaste onto your toothbrush. “Which one?”

He shrugged. “All of them.”

“Oh, um—” you paused. “Green Day. Alice in Chains. Foo Fighters. Creed.” You waved your hand, gesturing vaguely. Then you turned to face him with a small grin. “You like that kind of music?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “They played music like this at the bar we went to. It’s nice.” He said this casually, as if it didn't matter all that much. But to you, it mattered a lot. In the time you’d been dating Bucky, you knew he only stuck with what he knew and what he was comfortable with—very rarely stepping outside of his comfort zone.

So to hear him get enthusiastic over something as small as music, it made you happy.

“Cool. I’ll send you my playlist, then.”

Later that evening, he was playing your playlist on the speaker, even finding new songs to add. When you came home from work, he was already in the living room, vacuuming the large rug.

You smiled sweetly at him, taking your jacket off. “Growing fond of Dad rock, I see.”

He paused the vacuum, lifting his head to look at you with a confused expression. “Dad rock?”

You snorted, dropping your bag by the door as you walked toward him. “Yeah, Dad rock. Y’know—old man music? Classic rock. Stuff middle-aged guys would listen to.”

Bucky blinked, turning the vacuum off. “Wait. Old man?”

You bit back a laugh. “Dad rock is, like… nostalgic, gritty, kind of aggressive but in a lovable way. Basically, music made for men who complain about their backs and say things like, ‘They don't make ‘em like they used to.’”

He made a face. “I don't say that.”

“No,” you chuckled, resting your hand on his strong chest. “But you do complain about your back.”

He considered it for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I guess,” then he ran a hand down the stubble on his chin. “But can we circle back to the ‘old man’ part?” He hesitated for a second. “Do I… give off the energy of someone who’s old?”

You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, your brow raised. “What are you getting at, Buck?”

“I guess what I’m trying to ask is—do I… seem old?” He ran a hand through his long hair, pushing it back as if trying to make himself look more presentable. “And do… I look old?”

You blinked at him, thrown off guard by his question. It’s not often that your boyfriend expresses his insecurity—and when he does, he does it in subtle ways like this. And every single time, you’re there to reassure him. Your face softened, and your teasing evaporated as you cupped his jaw, feeling the rough scratch of his stubble beneath your palm.

“Bucky,” you said quietly, tilting his face towards yours. “Look at me.”

His blue eyes flickered to yours, eyes narrowed yet his gaze was soft and gentle, and that look alone was enough to make your body feel warm.

“You don’t look old,” you started, letting your thumb graze the corner of his mouth. “You look… distinguished.”

His brows furrowed, and the nicely-aged, grumpy crease between them only made the warmth between your legs flutter and pulse.

“That’s what people say when someone looks old,” he grumbled.

“Okay,” you corrected, sliding your hand down the column of his throat, to his collarbones, fingers tracing the firm lines of muscle. “Then let me try again.”

You tugged slightly on the collar of his henley, pulling him closer until your bodies brushed, until your chest was pressed up against his firm, solid one. “You look strong… and big,” you murmured. “Handsome.” Your hand traveled lower, fingertips brushing teasingly down against his shirt, and down to the edge of his belt. “And incredibly unfairly attractive for someone who’s spending too much time worried about being old.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“And I know for a fact—” you added, your fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck, giving it a gentle tug that made his breath hitch, “—you don’t fuck like an old man.”

He grunted, a rumbling sound that vibrated from his throat. “No?”

And with that, he would remind you just how strong and big he really was. His rough hands would find your waist—one hand warm and calloused, the other cold and hard—the contrast only making your body shiver in anticipation every time he held you.

He would hold you tight against his hard body and drive into you toward the closest flat surface possible. Whether it was the couch, the floor, the kitchen table, the bed, or against a wall—it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the feel of your warm cunt wrapped tight around his cock, your pussy jerking him off until he filled it with his cum.

And he was big—so big that it was almost painful. As much as he wanted to slam all the way in, he knew how important it was to ease into it. He would push in slowly at first, the stretch burning deliciously as he offered you encouraging words to take him deeper. “That's it,” he would coo. “Good girl—just like that. Gonna go a little deeper, okay? You can take it. You always do.”

His hands roamed eagerly all over your body, pulling, kneading, spanking, and pinching—anything to feel your warmth and to elicit a sound out of you. He was always sloppy with his mouth, pressing soft kisses all over your neck and chest, licking and lapping at your nipples until you were left a sensitive, writhing mess beneath him.

He rarely spoke—he mainly grunted and moaned above you, “Fuck, baby,” or “My God—fuck,” curses slipping under his breath every time he drove deep and hit a spot just right. But the times he got too into it—to the point where he’d start rutting into you uncontrollably like an animal—he wouldn’t hold back with his words.

A litany of filthy, disgusting words left his mouth as he hiked your legs over his shoulder, his hips rocking and the bed frame creaking as your wet, warm pussy hugged his pulsing shaft.

“Come on, sweetheart. Take my fucking cock—you can take it,” he groaned, his hands tight around your waist. “Goddamn, shit, gonna have to…” he’d thrust hard, “fill this… oh fuck, fill you up with cum—fuck, baby.”

And then he would do exactly that. He would fill you to the brim, keeping you stuffed full until you were trembling and panting in his arms, coming down from your high.

But the time after sex was the best part. Bucky would hold you tight against his bare chest, kissing your sweaty temple softly with a bunch of muttered and sleepy “I love yous” as his hands gently grazed your back.

He was always so warm and so big, and there was no better feeling than lying right beside him, your eyes fluttering shut as you took in his warmth, the stubble on his chin grazing against your temple, and the masculine scent of him.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he’d always ask you right after sex.

“Never.”

You taught him how to be patient and understanding.

You were already wincing when the front door of the house opened. Not because you’d done anything wrong, exactly—but because the tiny white fluffball currently curled in your lap was now residing in your shared home.

Without Bucky's permission.

He stepped inside, shrugging off his jacket. “Hey, doll. Sorry I’m late, traffic was—” he paused, kicking off his boots and taking a deep inhale. “What’s that... smell?”

You froze, and just as you were about to reply, the kitten chose this moment, of course, to poke her little head out, blue eyes blinking innocently.

Bucky stared back at her, and you offered the most awkward smile. “… surprise?”

He opened his mouth, shut it, pointed a finger, then opened his mouth again. “What is that?”

“A cat,” you said, frowning slightly.

“I can see that,” he replied, his expression stoic and his voice stern. “Why is it here?”

“She needed a home,” you corrected, your hand coming up to softly pet her head. “I was running some errands and I stopped by the shelter—for, um, no reason in particular. The shelter was full, and she looked so sad and lonely, and I thought—”

“—so you brought her here,” he finished, giving you a displeased look as if he were a disappointed father. “Without telling me.”

“She’s small,” you tried. “Barely takes up space. Like—like a sock.”

The white cat yawned, tiny and squeaky. Bucky’s eye twitched as if he were annoyed.

You gently lifted her out of your lap and held her up. “Just look at her.”

“I don’t do well with animals. You know that,” he said, crossing his arms. Grumpy. Very grumpy. “I’m not taking care of her,” he warned. “I’m not feeding her, or walking her, or—”

“She’s a cat, Buck. You don’t walk cats.”

Instead of rolling his eyes like he normally would, he exhaled sharply—that disappointed, discontented sigh that he rarely makes, but when he does, you can’t help but feel small and fragile. He dragged a hand through his hair, as if you were only adding more stress to his day.

“Still,” he muttered, his voice tight. “You can’t just—just decide these things and not tell me. I come home and there’s… there’s a whole animal in the house.”

He gestured vaguely at the cat, who blinked up at him, delighted by the small movement.

Your smile faltered just slightly. “Bucky, I… I didn’t think you’d be this upset. I thought you might be surprised, but—”

“It’s not—” he cut himself off, jaw clenching hard. He looked exhausted, trying to find the right words to say. “I had a long day. A really long day. And now there’s this…” his eyes flickered to the cat then back to you, “… thing that I could potentially fuck up.”

“Bucky—”

“I can barely keep myself together some days,” he muttered. “And now I’m supposed to be okay with having something small and breakable running around?”

“She’s my responsibility, Bucky,” you said gently. “I brought her in not expecting you to help out—”

“That’s also what I don’t like,” his voice grew slightly louder, making you shrink back on the couch. “We’re a team, aren’t we? That’s what you always say—then you bring home this cat and suddenly she’s your responsibility and your responsibility only. I don’t like that.”

You sat up straighter, heart beating anxiously. “Bucky… that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t want to put pressure on you, that’s all—”

He shook his head. “No. Stop. I just… I just need a minute,” he said quietly—not angry, just worn out. “I’m going to the other room.”

You bit your bottom lip, frowning as you looked down at the cat with pitiful eyes. “Sorry, baby,” you cooed. “He just needs some time.”

Later that week, Bucky hadn’t been interacting with you or the cat much, and your mind was circling in all the wrong places.

Every time he got upset, he’d always distance himself. He distanced himself to the point it became worrisome—always needing time for himself, not finding the right words to say to make it worse. And every time, you were left alone, waiting for him to come back when he was ready.

But eventually, over the course of the past few days, you would hear Bucky interacting with the cat—but not in ways that you expected.

“Stop biting my shoelaces.”

“You scratched me!”

“Stop meowing at me. I don’t know what you want.”

“Can it, cat. This food isn’t for you.”

You’d thought about bringing the kitten to a new shelter, but every time you looked at her soft little face, you were determined to make it work—with or without Bucky’s approval. You’d been trying to find names for the new cat—Snowball, Luna, Frost—but none of them worked.

You were passing the living room with a basket of laundry when you heard low, soft, and almost playful murmurs. Curious, you took a peek around the corner.

Bucky was on the floor, legs crossed, his metal hand held up like a perch. The cat was balancing delicately on his knee, batting a paw at one of his fingers while he moved it slowly, letting her catch it every time.

And he was smiling.

Not a big, overly excited smile—just that small, rare curve you only ever caught during intimate, slow moments or when he was looking at you when you thought he didn’t notice.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Get it, little Alpine.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nearly dropped the laundry basket altogether. Suddenly, the tension from the mishap that happened earlier in the week evaporated, and the only thing you could pay attention to right now was the cat chirping triumphantly and pouncing onto his metal wrist. Bucky let out a soft huff of genuine and warm laughter.

You leaned against the doorway. “Alpine, huh?”

Bucky froze, but the cat kept pouncing on his hand. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder at you, his ears turning pink. “I—uh, I was just…” He cleared his throat. “She was all by herself in the room and—I don’t know. Do you like it?”

You pushed off the doorframe and walked closer, setting the laundry basket down softly. The kitten momentarily stopped batting her paw just to watch you approach.

“I love it,” you whispered, your voice suddenly shaky with emotion. You knelt beside him, gently running your finger down the white fur on the kitten's back. “It’s perfect, Bucky.” You smiled, keeping your eyes down on Alpine.

Bucky didn’t say for a moment. You could feel his eyes on you, but you kept your focus on Alpine's tiny frame, half-curled against him like she was always meant to be there, with him. When you finally looked up, he was already looking back at you.

His gaze softened, and his smile faltered slightly—hesitant and fragile. You looked away again, keeping your eyes down at Alpine—because by keeping eye contact, it would only pressure him to say things he might not know what or how to say.

“Hey,” he murmured gently. “Look at me for a second.”

You hesitated, but then you looked up.

He pressed his lips together, the gears in his head turning as he tried to figure out what to say. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For the other night. For… everything I said—or didn’t say. I wasn’t mad at you… I was just…” He let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “I was scared and tired—but mostly scared.” He frowned. “I’ve never taken care of an animal before. This is all new to me. I don’t like new things.”

You leaned in a little closer, your knee brushing against his.

“It’s okay. You’re doing fine,” you whispered. “More than fine.” He didn’t argue, but he didn’t quite believe you either—you could see it in the way his shoulders stayed tense, like he was just waiting to mess up.

You reached out, letting your fingers lightly brush against his thigh. “Bucky… you don’t have to know everything right away. Taking care of something—or someone—it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being patient.”

You nodded towards the little animal balancing on his other leg. “Look at her. She already trusts you. She’s not waiting for you to be perfect.”

He stared down at Alpine, who stretched against his hand like she had no doubt who would protect her—because that was the energy Bucky gave off. He wasn’t great with words, he was never good at expressing himself—and even that was okay. Because without a doubt, he loved you. He loved hard, and he showed it in more ways than one.

This was one of them.

He looked at you through his lashes. “Do you… like the name?” he asked again quietly, as if he might take the name back if you hesitated even a second. Your heart warmed at the vulnerability woven into those five little words—the way he asked like he genuinely hoped you did, like your approval meant more to him than he could ever fully say.

“I love it, Bucky,” you whispered. “That means we get to keep her?”

His fingers stroked Alpine’s fur with an instinctive gentleness, the same way he would caress your back or hair. “Yeah,” he said, almost bashful. “She’s ours.”

“Good,” you sighed softly. “Because I had no plans of putting her back in the shelter.”

He chuckled quietly, and you leaned your head against his hard shoulder, letting the vulnerable moment envelop the three of you like a comfy warm blanket. Alpine purred quietly between you, a tiny ball of white soft fluff curled comfortably and safely in Bucky’s hands.

Because that’s what dating Bucky Barnes always felt like.

And to Bucky, that’s what dating you felt like.

Comfortable, soft, and safe.

thank you for reading <3

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

[lumosflairr]

ur peter parker fics r genuinely so peak I shed tears

so sorry for not answering i havent been writing or checking my inbox much, but THANK YOU SO MUCH IM GLAD YOU ENJOY THEM <3! ill write more soon i promise :)

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Winter's Child

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your daughter live across the hall from Bucky. However, one night when your daughter won't settle, you turn to him for help.

Disclaimer: A lot of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort vibes. This is also a long fic. Bucky is not a step-dad but a dad who steps up. Brief mentions of abandonment, heavy on the Found Family, cute fluffy date moments between Reader and Bucky. Yelena and Kate being a duo, slight swearing. Not fully proof read.

You were at your wits end. At least, you thought you were until a handwritten letter slipped under your door at nine am on the dot a week ago. 

A noise complaint. 

You were a single, new mom of one. And instead of helping, three of your neighbours – two of whom had children of their own – decided to file a noise complaint against you. 

First, it was sleepless nights with a newborn. Then it was three weeks of convincing male doctors that your baby was, in fact, sick and it wasn’t you just being dramatic. And now…it was teething. 

You’d barely had a minute to yourself in several months. Family helped you where they could, but one night was all they would do in terms of babysitting. 

You had five piles of laundry that either needed washing, drying, folding or putting away. Your apartment was over-run with household chores that needed doing, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you moved through your home. 

And every time you’d just get your baby to sleep, someone upstairs decided that it was time for yet another rearrangement of furniture because it didn’t fit the ‘movement’ of his vibe. 

“What?” You were practically crying yourself. “What is it? I’ve tried everything. Please, just tell me what to do. Please.”

Nothing was working. You didn’t want another noise complaint in fear of someone suggesting you should move out. It took years for you to find a safe place that was within walking distance of a good school. 

Obviously, you’d planned the whole ‘having a baby’ thing happening differently than being single and alone the whole time. But it was the quiet moments, the moments where your baby laughed and smiled that made your heart lighten a little. 

But at two am, exhausted and desperate – that was not one of those moments. 

You’d never know why – you could only ever guess - but an idea popped into your head. And you could only pray it would work. 

Bucky had just closed his front door when someone knocked on it. It was hurried and for a moment, he felt for his side-arm. 

But when the knock was followed by a baby’s cry, he lowered his hand. By the time he opened the door, he was greeted with you - his neighbour. 

“I’m so sorry, I really really am-”

You looked like Hell. Bucky had been on a ten day mission in Serbia and had the crap kicked out of him twice – and somehow you looked worse. 

“But she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want another noise complaint or to be kicked out. I know this is really rude and I am sorry but, please. Is there-”

Bucky stepped forward and scooped the baby from your arms for a moment. He held her up, letting her little legs dangle in the air for a moment whilst he checked her over. 

It was like he’d performed some kind of miracle. 

Your baby had stopped crying. 

Bucky could see you in the corner of his eye. It looked like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, only to come crashing back down. 

“How do you do that?”

Bucky shrugged with a small smile as he cradled your baby in his arms. “I had kid sisters growing up. Ma was always run off her feet.”

“I’m really sorry about this, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “Don’t be. You said you got a noise complaint?”

You nodded, leaning against the wall beside his door. “A week ago. Someone slipped it under my door. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to sign it, I’ve not exactly been a quiet neighbour these last few months.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re doing your best. Ignore the noise complaint. If you get any more, give them to me, I’ll get it sorted.”

“No, you don’t-”

“If they’d bothered to help, then someone might be able to say they're just in their complaint. But they haven’t. So nothing is right about it. Want me to put her down?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

As Bucky walked inside your apartment, cradling your sleeping daughter in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You were her mom. You should be able to do it without having to knock on your neighbour’s door in the middle of the night. 

And you knew it wasn’t the first time he’d helped you, either. 

At six months pregnant when she was kicking you like she was about to be the next World’s Greatest Football player, you had to pause outside your door, leaving your grocery bags on the floor for a moment. 

Bucky had just left his apartment when he saw you. In your small exchange, which most of your conversations were, you helped him press his hand to your stomach. 

It was one big kick. 

“Kid, you’ve gotta be nice to your mom,” Bucky had warned. 

The kicks stopped. 

Bucky had also helped when your baby was five months old. You were carrying her on your hip whilst balancing the baby bag and two bags of groceries. Bucky had just, again, left his apartment when he asked if you needed any help. 

“Can you hold her for a second?”

Bucky took her without question and the soft babbles had turned into quiet solitude as she laid her head on his shoulder. Bucky also took one of the grocery bags from you as you searched for your door key. 

Once you’d thrown everything inside the door, you took your baby back who, within the space of sixty seconds, had grown rather attached to your neighbour. 

Which was also clear in the way her little fists held onto his shirt as he carefully lowered her into her crib. 

“I’m really sorry about this.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m happy to help.”

If Bucky was being honest, he was more than happy to help. When he’d first moved in, a lot of the tenants in the building had avoided him. A few even complained about him living there considering he was an ex-assassin. And he couldn’t blame them. He still blamed himself sometimes. 

But you were one of the few that didn’t treat him like that. You treated him like he was just an average human living across the hall from you. So, helping you and your daughter where you asked him to – it gave him another sense of normalcy. 

Something he found to be very rare in his line of work. 

“You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask.” Bucky told you as you walked him to the door. 

You shook your head. “I already feel bad asking you to help me get her to sleep.”

Bucky turned on his heel and looked at you. “You don’t have to feel bad about that. You’re a mom trying to do it all. You’re allowed to ask for help, Y/n.”

That still didn’t stop the guilt, though. 

You’d opted to have the baby on your own. There had been other options, but they just simply were options you didn’t want to take. You’d chosen to do it on your own, which meant continuing to do it on your own. 

“Thank you, Bucky. For everything you’ve done so far.”

You bid him goodnight, feeling the continuing guilt settle in your stomach but gratitude wash over your home. Your baby was fast asleep, and for the first time in months, you got a full night’s sleep. 

When you woke up, you checked on your daughter to find her still fast asleep. So, you took the time you had to finish cleaning your apartment. 

You were folding the third pile of clean laundry when someone knocked on your door. When you answered it, you stalled for a moment. 

“Bucky, what are you-”

“I know you’re not gonna ask unless you’re out of options, so I’m giving you an option to take,” he told you. “When you need help, or need a break, call me.” 

He handed you a post-it note with his phone number on. 

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. And I want you to.” Bucky pressed. “You’re one of the few people outside of my job that treats me like a person. And, just because you’re a mom, doesn’t mean you should constantly be treated like one. You’re a person, too, Y/n. You deserve the help.”

You were completely shocked. Bucky was…an Avenger. He was someone who helped save the world, twice. But he was offering to help you and your baby. 

You lowered the post-it note. “Would you have any idea how to fix a kitchen cupboard?”

Bucky smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him that you were actually asking. 

He nodded, “Let me get my tools.”

Your brows furrowed. “You have tools?”

He laughed, “I have tools.”

What you thought was just going to be an afternoon turned into two years of frequent help – even when you never asked – and a growing friendship. 

The routine of helping you and your daughter also helped Bucky. It helped ground him after a tough mission. One that, if he went home alone, would be playing over in his mind until the nightmares all mixed into one. 

Even the team noticed the change in Bucky. He seemed lighter, happier and calmer. But the only one who knew the truth behind the change was Sam. Mainly because he’d seen the photo on Bucky’s desk at work. 

A picture of himself, you and a toddler who was holding the camera. 

“You should invite them over for dinner,” Sam told him one afternoon. 

“You think so?”

Sam nodded, taking the beer from Bucky. “Yeah, why not? She’s been your neighbour for years. I know you’ve had a crush on her, for like, ever.”

“I don’t have a crush-”

“You’ve got a crush.” Sam told him. “And, it’s about time we meet your future wife.”

“Sam.”

Sam just laughed. “Oh, come on, man. You know I’m right. I’ve seen the way you look at your phone when she calls you. I’ve also seen the look on your face when you find out it’s her daughter wanting to update you about her day. What a two year old has going on in her life, other than apple sauce packets, is beyond me.”

“She went on her first playdate and helped someone make friends. It was a big day for her.”

“Ha, see! Buck – accept it or deny it, they’re your family. Which makes them ours, too.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll ask, but if she says no-”

“Then we’ll let it slide.”

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket. “And you’ll make sure Kate doesn’t stalk her online.”

Sam held up his hands. “You have my word.”

Thankfully for everyone involved, you agreed. A week later, you were unbuckling your daughter from her car seat whilst she tried to scramble away and towards the crowd of Avengers who were laughing and chatting over a barbeque. 

That was when a small pair of lungs squealed at the top of their voice, “Bucky!”

Your daughter was running, ignoring your call of being careful before she fell, towards her favourite person. And you had to admit, aside from your daughter, he was yours, too. 

You watched as Bucky stopped his conversation with Sam Wilson and turned to jog towards your daughter. By the time they reached each other, Bucky lifted her into the air as she squealed with more happiness. 

“Hey, firecracker. How was pre-school?”

“Good!”

Resting her on his arm, Bucky talked to her and waited for you to reach him. “Really? You gonna tell me about it?”

You smiled, “Only if you want your ears to fall off.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t need them anyway.” 

You stopped just short of him and he led the way over to the table that was still being set up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

You’d had anxiety for a week over agreeing to the BBQ. What would they think? Would they hate you? Would it be awkward? 

But after twenty minutes, everything felt…normal. You helped a very chatting Kate Bishop and a calmer Laura Bishop set the table for the multitude of Avengers and kids that were attending the BBQ. 

People hugged, laughed, asked as many questions as they could – most of them coming from your daughter who, despite attaching herself to Bucky for most of the day, wanted to know everything she could about everyone she was with. 

And they answered every one of her questions. 

By the time the stars were peeking out behind the few clouds that remained in the sky, your daughter waddled her way over to you from where Kate had let her back onto her feet, and you picked her up. 

As you finished your conversation with Natasha, you started packing away what you could with a sleeping child on your shoulder when Tony appeared. 

“Why don’t you stay? You should stay. We’ve got plenty of room and the roads can be dangerous, really, at night. You should stay.”

You tried to shake your head, but Natasha stood. “Just say yes before he says he found a fault with your car.”

“That’s a generous offer, Mr Stark-”

“Tony, please. And don’t sweat it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

You don’t remember agreeing but somewhere between Tony showing you inside to the compound and a sudden new message alert that a scan of your car had resulted in a few, rather dangerous faults being found, you were putting your daughter to be at the Avengers Compound. 

And then you were being led back into the living area where everyone was sitting around the coffee table talking. And the only available spot left was right beside Bucky. 

He sat you beside him with ease. Too much ease to be normal between friends. Not that you were complaining. There was safety with Bucky, in a way you couldn’t describe. 

Of course, when you felt his fingers trace up and down your arm lightly, you felt your cheeks heat. But you still felt safe. Not so nervous where you felt like running in the opposite direction, but nervous enough to enjoy being with him. 

And after an hour or so, Yelena walked back inside with a little hand holding onto her finger. 

“Someone wanted to join the party,” Yelena said as she led your daughter over to you where she climbed into yours, and technically, Bucky’s lap. 

Bucky smoothed down the back of her hair as she rubbed her eyes. 

“Don’t you want to go to sleep, honey?”

She shook her head, and pouted. “No. Not without you and Bucky.”

Bucky smiled softly, “C’mere, kiddo.”

Leaning over, your daughter settled herself between you and Bucky before leaning her head against his side. 

“Okay, that is way too cute,” Kate said as she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures. 

As conversations started up again, your daughter fell into a deep sleep against Bucky. Something you almost did yourself until you managed to gain enough energy to lift yourself from the sofa and carry your child back to bed. 

Bucky followed you, his palm warm on your lower back as he led you down the dimly lit hallways.

However, by the time you woke up in the morning and went to check on your daughter, you found her bed empty. But just as the anxiety that you tried to keep calm spiked in your chest, a voice spoke inside the room. 

“Your daughter is currently interrogating Mr Wilson on his preference of breakfast cereal.”

You relaxed a little. “Of course, she is.”

You were slow to round the corner into the kitchen, wanting to watch your daughter for a few moments. Bucky was right in her nickname; firecracker. She was like some kind of professional quizzer. 

It amazed you some days, at how head-strong she was for such a young age. But you wouldn’t change her for the world. 

Slowly, you lean against the kitchen counter beside your daughter, listening to her explain to Sam about how cheerios were better than eggs, Sam softly arguing back. 

Little did you know, her arguing with Sam would become a frequent image in your own home. 

It seemed, for as much as your daughter had fallen in love with the Avengers, they had fallen in love with her and each one of her questions. You started to see Sam at Bucky’s apartment more often, Yelena and Kate would show up at the park when you’d take your daughter out for the day, your daughter’s preschool also started to get a little more funding here and there throughout her school year. 

And on the days where Bucky would offer to pick her up from school when your work ran over, they would turn into sleepover nights at the Compound since you couldn’t pry your daughter from their arms no matter how hard you tried. 

Eventually, you started to feel like family to them. They loved your daughter like one of their own, and she loved them right back. If anyone at school said that Captain America was less cool than Iron Man, or that Kate wasn’t the better Hawkeye or that anyone on the team wasn’t as cool as your daughter thought they were; she would defend them to her last breath. 

But the one she defended most passionately was Bucky. How he wasn’t scary but actually really kind and funny, even if he was grumpy sometimes. And how his metal arm was like having a normal one – he could still feel everything the same. Almost. 

She even drew him in all of her pictures when it came to her art class. Which, one day, turned into a list of questions which she just so happened to ask out loud one morning when Bucky had just made her breakfast. 

“Are you like my dad?”

Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to look at your daughter. But her gaze was focused on her breakfast and the picture she’d made at school the day before. 

“Why do you ask, honey?” You asked her softly, leaning down beside her. 

“Because Jeremy said I couldn’t have a ‘Bucky’. I had a mommy, so I needed a daddy, too.”

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest. “Honey…” 

You didn’t quite know what to say. Her biological dad hadn’t been in the picture since he’d seen the positive pregnancy test on your bathroom counter. 

“Jeremy was wrong.”

“He was?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Look around you, baby girl. I know you don’t exactly have a daddy, but you do have people that love you.”

That was when your daughter looked around to the other people in the kitchen for reassurance. They all agreed that Jeremy was wrong. 

“Truth is, honey, maybe not everyone has a daddy, but not everyone has a ‘Bucky’ either.”

Steve smiled, “And that makes you extra special, kid.”

Your daughter smiled  before turning around in her stool and hopping down before walking over to Bucky who picked her up instantly. 

She hugged him around his neck. “I love you.”

Bucky was on the edge of tears. “Love you, too, firecracker.”

Later that night, Bucky put her to bed whilst you finished up in the kitchen. You’d offered to make dinner but since half of them got called out on a mission and Bucky was already being used as a human pillow for your four year old, Kate took his place on the mission. 

So, you’d packed the dinner into different take-away containers and stocked them into the fridge and freezer, along with a couple of post-it notes on how long to reheat. 

You were wiping down the counters when Bucky walked back inside. 

“She okay?”

“Out like a light,” Bucky smiled. “Mind if I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Always.”

“Earlier…when she asked me…what happened to her dad?”

You stopped cleaning for a moment before you took a breath. 

Bucky had lived across the hall from you for a while, even before you were pregnant. But he’d never seen someone in your life long enough to consider they would be your partner. 

“We’d been dating for a couple months, but since he lived closer to my workplace, I stayed at his house more often than he did mine. His house was also closer to his work, so it meant we could spend longer together in bed. Pretty sure it was one of those mornings when I got caught…” You took your time, and Bucky let you. 

If you had told him you didn’t want to talk about it, he would have backed off and waited. You didn’t have to tell him anything, but he was glad you were. 

“But, as we hit the three month mark, I started getting a weird feeling. More than I ever have before. Woman’s intuition told me he wasn’t exactly staying loyal. But it felt like more than that, so…I took a test. The minute he saw the two lines he told me he was seeing someone else and that he didn’t want to know about me or the baby, ever. I’ve never heard from him since.”

Bucky couldn’t feel his blood boil. First, a guy who was with you…he let you go. He strayed, cheated and let you go. And then, he abandoned you when you would have needed him the most, and finally…he didn’t even want to meet you or your little firecracker. 

“Well, that’s technically a lie. I heard from some cheap-shot lawyer of his after I sent him some pictures of his daughter’s birth. Just one of her in a hospital onesie and a little hat that one of the nurses had knitted for her. She was so little,” you smiled as you thought back to those first moments where you held her and heard her cry. 

“What did the lawyer say?”

“That he was giving up all parental rights. He wanted to make sure, as far as the law knew, he didn’t have a daughter.”

“He’s…something I would say if there wasn’t a four year old sleeping down the hallway.”

You chuckled. It was nice to know someone was just as angry, if not more so, at the thought of someone not wanting to know your daughter. 

“I guess I was kind of lucky in a way, though.”

Bucky looked up at you from the counter. 

“If he did want to know her, she might not have had you. I might not have…I probably would have moved closer, for the baby’s sake.”

Bucky let the breath go from his lungs. “God, I can’t imagine not having you both in my life.”

You smiled, “Luckily, you don’t have to. We’re both lucky to have you, Bucky. And I’m glad we do.”

Bucky smiled back at you, his heart rate increasing just that little bit more. He managed to look away before you caught the flush in his cheeks. 

A few months later, you were at home finishing up your third load of washing for the week when someone knocked at your door. 

“Kate? Yelena?”

Kate’s expression held nothing but relief as she turned around and faced the door when you answered. “Oh, thank god.”

“What’s going on?” You asked them as they walked into your home. Yelena was carrying several different garment bags whilst Kate carried two more and dragged a small make-up trolly behind her. 

“We need your help.”

“What on earth for?”

You closed the door, balancing the laundry basket on your hip as they turned around to face you. 

“We need you to attend Pepper’s gala tonight.”

“What- Why?”

Kate looked at Yelena who nodded. 

“Because you do.”

“Girls, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that.”

Yelena rolled her eyes as she dropped the bags onto the sofa. “God, you’re such a mom.”

“Yelena.”

Yelena just fixed her hair. “We need you to be someone’s date.”

“Can I ask who this someone is?”

“It’s-”

“No.” Yelena cut Kate off. “You can’t know because it’s a surprise. So, enough questions. Give me that.” 

Yelena took the laundry basket from you and pushed you along down the hallway. Meanwhile, she pulled out the worn hair tie from your hair. 

“Yeah, you need to get washed first. Use your fancy stuff.”

“Yelena-”

“Go, now. Please.”

You gave a small huff as you got into the bathroom. “Fine. But only because you said please.”

Yelena smiled before she shut the door. “Thank you.”

By the time you’d finished your everything shower, along with the fancier shampoo you tended to save for dates and nights out – a shampoo that’s only use was before parent-teacher meetings, or any place you had to look like you hadn’t been up half the night reading parenting books. 

You were rushed into your guest bedroom where Yelena sat you down at the vanity desk. Meanwhile, Kate was lying with your daughter on the bed, looking through different eyeshadow colours, naming them all. 

“Katie knows a lot of colours, momma.”

Kate smiled. “I really do. Hey, you know what this one is called?”

Your daughter shook her head. 

“Aquamarine.”

“Aq…aquaamarr-”

“Aquamarine,” Kate repeated a little slower and your daughter copied. 

An hour and many more unanswered questions later, Yelena had finished your hair whilst Kate was helping you apply your make-up. 

You had been planning a quiet night in. More than likely, it would have ended with you watching the last half an hour of a Disney movie alone whilst your daughter snored herself to sleep on the sofa. 

“Okay, dress time.”

Kate stood and opened up each garment bag. “Which one?” She asked your daughter. 

“Don’t I get to pick?”

“You don’t know the plan, momma.” Your almost five year old, told you. 

“There’s a plan?”

Kate shrugged. “There’s always a plan.”

It took a total of seven minutes and a game of ‘left or right’ to decide on your dress. A floor length gown with a high slit up one leg. There was a soft shimmer to the fabric like you’d been spritzed with body glitter beforehand.  

All three girls gasped as you stepped out from behind your dressing divider. 

“Wow, momma,” your daughter seemed mesmerised. “You look beautiful like the stars.”

You smiled, “Thank you, babygirl.” Then you turned to the two elders. “Will you answer my questions now?”

They smiled, like they knew something you didn’t. But before you could get your answers, someone knocked on the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Your daughter sprung from the bed, quickly followed by Yelena. 

“You really do look beautiful, Y/n.”

You smiled. “Kate, what’s going on?”

She just smiled back. “You’ll see.”

As you tightened your shoes a little, you heard your daughter call out for you. 

“You can come out now, momma!”

And as you did, it was like your breath had been taken from you. 

By your door, Bucky was standing wearing a tux. You’d always known he was handsome, but there was just something about a man in a tux…

You felt yourself smile as you walked closer. “I thought you were away-”

“I know, I was. But…I managed to finish early. You look…” Bucky was lost for words. Or maybe he had too many. 

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, breathtaking…

“She looks beautiful like stars,” your daughter jumped in. And he had to agree. 

“You’re right, firecracker. You look beautiful like stars.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Then Yelena jumped in. “Right, off you go.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she pushed you both towards the door as Kate opened it. “We’ll make sure the little firecracker gets to bed before you’re home. She’ll be safe. She’s with two avengers.”

You knew that was true. But, you also knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be safe. Yelena was a trained spy, but Kate? Kate would crack under the pressure of your little girl's thousand and ten questions questionnaire. 

Before you knew it, you were being waltzed inside of the venue that had been rented out by Pepper’s company for the charity gala. All the while, holding onto Bucky’s hand and arm. 

“This is a lot of people,” you whispered to him. 

“We only have to show our faces for an hour. Two max. Then we can ditch.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a ditcher,” you told him, a little surprise in your voice. 

He chuckled. “No. Ma would have killed me for skipping school, not that I ever did. I actually enjoyed it. It was fun when Steve wasn’t getting his ass kicked. But, for things like this? It’s not my favourite thing in the world.”

You shrugged. You couldn’t blame him. It was lovely; getting ready, witnessing Bucky in a tux for the first time, feeling a little less guilty about leaving your daughter for the night. But there were a lot of people. People who you didn’t know. And you doubted Bucky knew, either. 

“But it’s better having you here with me.”

You whipped your gaze away from the crystal chandeliers, to your date. You covered the butterflies in your stomach with a soft smile. 

Before you could say anything, someone called your name. And then Bucky’s. 

It was Pepper. 

She introduced you both to different people before she was called away by someone else. 

Although it was a lot, it was easier having Bucky by your side. It was rare his hand ever left yours. At one point, his fingers had intertwined with yours and there was no way you were going to cut that off. 

By the second turn of the venue, looking at the items that were going to be auctioned off for charity, you and Bucky tried to sneak away from the crowd for a while. Only, you were caught in a conversation with a couple who – despite their fortune and education – didn’t know when to end a conversation. 

Half way through their very boring conversation, a thought passed through your head. Bucky could have fucked you right there and then, and they still would have carried on the conversation. 

But you pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. Although, it did try to resurface every ten minutes, when Bucky’s other hand would warm your lower back, your other hip or, briefly, the top of the slit in your dress. 

“We really should be going.”

You and Bucky managed to escape. But only for ten minutes. Because the couple were coming back. 

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. But Bucky beat you to it. “Fuck-”

You were pulled down a small corridor that led to the back of another room filled with  items up for auction, before being pulled into the smaller, darkened alcove in the wall. 

The couple passed you both right by, without being noticed. 

In the confined space, you and Bucky stayed as quiet as you could. Your hands were on his chest, letting you know that you weren’t alone with the rapid heartbeat in your ears. Though, his was a little calmer than your own. 

His own hands remained fixed on your hips, holding you steady on your feet. For a split second, he shifted and his knee brushed your inner thigh. 

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. 

Then you felt his hands lightly trace up your body. Your breath hitched. 

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked you, his voice in a soft whisper by the shell of your ear. 

You nodded and answered quietly. “It’s fine.”

With Bucky’s gaze on you, you started to realise just how small the alcove was. The scent of his cologne was intricately lodging itself into your mind – any time you’d smell that scent, you’d been pulled right back into the alcove. 

Then, with a breathy chuckle, he smiled. “Want to get out of here?”

No. 

“Think the coast is clear?”

Please don’t be.

Bucky peered around the corner before he turned back and nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

Let’s stay. 

With Bucky’s hand in yours, he swiftly got you both out of the venue unnoticed. It wasn’t until you were half way down the block, and Bucky was laying his jacket over your shoulders, that you realised you’d forgotten your coat. 

“But, you’ll get cold.”

Bucky just smiled. “I’ve got the serum. I can’t get cold, doll.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he assured you. 

And for a while, you both just talked. About the night, about the couple that couldn’t seem to take a hint and the fact Bucky had come back early. 

And then he asked you to dance.

“There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music. Come on.”

The street was completely empty. A couple of street lamps lit the way, and every once in a while, a taxi would drive down the main road ahead. But other than that, it was just you and Bucky. 

“Is this what you used to do?” You asked him after a few moments. “Take a girl out, ask her to dance under the streetlights with you. Bet you were a real heartbreaker.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe. Just a little. But if this was a date, I would have done this-” Bucky softly dipped you in his arms. “By now.”

He was slow to bring you back to your feet, your forehead against his, your lungs in need of some air despite already being outside. 

His palm burned a little on your back. You just wished it would make a permanent mark. 

“Does that make this a date now?”

“I don’t know. I’d like it to be,” he admitted to you, honestly. “If I asked you on one, officially, would you say yes?”

“I wouldn’t want to lose you, Bucky.”

“I promise you won’t. If it goes badly, we can laugh about it later. Just, say yes?”

It took you a short moment, but you nodded. “Okay. Yes.”

Bucky walked you back home. And by the time you opened up your door, you walked in to find Kate, Yelena and your daughter all fast asleep on the sofa, the bright colours of the Disney Princess film flashing across their faces. 

“Do you want to get her out of the tangle?” You asked Bucky. “I would but I’m afraid to get a fist to my face.”

Bucky chuckled, softly closing the door as he nodded. Even he knew how it was when trying to wake Kate up. She was a fighter until she opened her eyes and realised who was trying to get her up. 

Bucky got your daughter out with ease and carried her to bed, leaving you to deal with the two sleeping Avengers. 

Meanwhile, down the hall as he laid her in her bed, she woke up briefly. 

“Did you ask her?”

Bucky brushed the baby hairs that had fallen from the braids in her hair. He smiled, “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she say yes?”

He nodded. “She said yes.”

She gave a tired cheer before he kissed her head and tucked her in. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

The moment she rolled over, she was snoring. And just as Bucky passed the guest bedroom, he could hear two more sets of snoring coming from inside. 

You crept out of the room and softly clicked the door shut. From there, you and Bucky took your time walking back to the front door. 

“About this date-”

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told you. “If you don’t feel comfortable-”

You smiled. “I was just gonna ask if you’re free on Sunday.”

Bucky was a little surprised but smiled. “I’m free on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at ten?”

It was definitely the earliest date you’d been on. 

“There’s a place I want to show you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

After picking you up on his motorcycle, Bucky drove an hour out of the city to a small town. The entire main street was taken over by a farmer’s market. There were smaller stalls with different homemade items. 

You and Bucky ended up picking up a few things for a make-shift picnic in the park before he took you to the local watering hole where a live band was playing and people’s shoes were scuffing the wooden floor from dancing. 

“How did you find this place?”

“Barton told me about it.” Bucky told you. “Him and Laura passed through it once before, so I decided to come and check it out. I’ve wanted to show you ever since, but each time I came to tell you, something came up at work so I wouldn’t have been here to show you.”

“But now you are.”

“Now I am,” he told you before he took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re dancing.”

It was a small two-step, nothing major. But for you, it felt like everything. Being in his arms again – you knew there would never be another place where you would feel this safe. Feeling his hand in yours, seeing the blush creep up on his cheeks each time you looked at him. 

Slowly, the rest of the room disappeared. The music from the band became nothing more than background noise and the only person you could see was Bucky. 

And when you closed your eyes, and felt his lips against yours, the only thing you could feel was him. 

The light breeze that wafted past the barn doors disappeared, the air of apple pie and ice cold lemonade disappeared from your skin.

The only thing that soaked its way into your bones was the feeling of him. His hand in yours, his other at your opposite hip, holding you flush against him, his belt buckle making a small impression behind the fabric of your outfit. 

It was more than you ever dreamt of. 

The Talk came two weeks later. The one that neither you and Bucky had mentioned, but had to be done. Because it wasn’t just both of you in the relationship, if you were going to continue. 

Your daughter was involved, too. 

“She loves you, Bucky.”

“And I’ll never want to see her hurt, either,” he finished. “I never want to hurt either of you, ever.”

“I know.”

“So, we take it slow,” he offered. “But I think we should involve her, too. You come as a package deal, and I don’t want to ignore that.”

You gave him a small smile. There had been plenty of one-stop dates who had ignored that fact, plenty who had wanted you to come as a single package. 

Bucky was the first. 

So, a few weeks later, when a knock came to your door, your daughter beat you to the door and opened it to find Bucky. 

“Bucky!” 

Your daughter ran for his legs and wrapped her arms around them before she let go and he bent down. 

“Why are you here?”

Bucky looked from your daughter, up to you with a half cocked smile. “I’m here to give you these.”

Behind his back, Bucky pulled out two bouquets of flowers. One was a little bigger than the second. 

He presented the smaller bunch to your daughter before he stood to his full height and handed you the bigger section. 

“And these are for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky crouched back down to your daughter. “And I was hoping that you and your mom would want to come with me for the day.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay!” Your daughter turned around and ran back inside. 

“Careful, honey. Put your flowers in the kitchen, I’ll put them in some water!”

“Okay!” She yelled back before going to her bedroom to get her shoes. 

With the coast clear, Bucky leaned in and pressed three light kisses to your lips. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Bucky closed the door as he entered and you walked into your kitchen to run the tap for some water. 

“So, where are we going?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“From me, too?”

He nodded. 

Two minutes later, your daughter came running back down the hall. Bucky managed to scoop her up before she tripped down the small step. 

“Got my shoes!”

“Firecracker?”

“Yes?”

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet, honey,” he told her. She looked down, very confused. 

Bucky popped her on the kitchen island before offering to fix them. Swinging her feet, she nodded. 

As you placed the flowers inside of a vase, finding a smaller one for your daughter’s; you watched as Bucky taught her a trick to always remember her left and right before he reached into one of the cupboard draws and pulled out a small sheet of stickers. 

“When the star touches, then you know they’re on the right feet.”

“So cool.”

A little under an hour later, your daughter was on Bucky’s shoulders, looking with amazement at all the artifacts in the museum. You could see her little brain working overtime to find out all the answers to every question she had, knowing she was going to be telling Kate and Yelena all about it in a few days time. 

After lunch and the second half of the tour, you heard your daughter gasp before she took your hand and dragged you down the hall. 

Secretly having been holding Bucky’s hand, you pulled him with you. 

“Slow down, honey. Where are we going?”

“Come on, you gotta see! Come on!”

By the time you both found yourself in the exhibit room, you looked around and realised why she had seemed so excited. 

The entire thing was dedicated to Captain America. 

“Look, momma. It’s Steve!”

You picked your daughter up and carried her over. “That’s right, honey.”

“Look, Bucky. It’s you.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s me.”

“Why is it not got colours?”

Bucky chuckled. “Because it’s from the 1940s.”

Your daughter watched, puzzled, as a small clip of Bucky and Steve laughing played on the big screen. 

“That’s over 90 years ago.”

“Wow, that’s old.”

You and Bucky chuckled lightly, just before your daughter wiggled her way out of your arms. The moment her feet were planted on the floor, she ran over to the small window where people were standing on the scale. 

The picture didn’t even move. 

“Come here, firecracker.” Bucky scooped your daughter up in his arms and planted himself on the scale. The picture changed and you watched as your daughter looked at herself in uniform. 

However, for a glimpse, you caught Bucky’s face in the reflection. 

You’d seen plenty of pictures, news segments, documentaries and home videos of Bucky both in and out of uniform, back in the 40s. But there was just something in that moment that it hit you- 

Bucky had lived that life. He’d seen that world. If you had met him on the streets of Brooklyn over ninety years ago, you would have been watching him getting shipped out to England. 

“Okay, where to next?”

“Hmm, over there! Come on, momma!”

The little voice, filled to the brim with excitement, broke you out of your trance long enough for you to follow after them. 

However, hours later; long after Bucky had carried your daughter from her car seat and up the steps and into your apartment. You surprised him. 

He was in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil as you got dressed into your home clothes. But, when you returned and he felt his heart light up at seeing you as you, he was shocked. 

You hugged him. 

He held back the laugh in his chest. “What’s this for?”

“Just because,” you told him. 

Then you kissed him. 

“And that?”

“That was because I love you.”

Bucky faulted for a moment. He didn’t want to come off too excited in case he’d heard wrong. 

“You love me?”

You nodded. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time, but seeing you today…it just hit me. And I wanted to tell you.”

Then he smiled, keeping his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer. “I’m glad, because I’m in love with you, too.”

A smile broke onto your face before it was kissed away by him, his hands pulling you flush against his body. 

It had taken years for you to realise, and even longer to work up the courage to tell him. 

Who knew all it took was a family trip to the museum? 

Thankfully, those family trips started to become more frequent. As did the solo and family dates you, Bucky and your daughter went on. 

But, for Bucky, nothing beat the date night you and he had after the parent-teacher meeting you both attended just a little under a year of dating. 

It was in that meeting that the teacher gushed over how far your daughter had come in the last year, how incredible her artwork was and how they were looking at moving her up a couple of reading grades. 

Although Bucky wasn’t there to create your daughter, or there to cut the cord. She was like him in so many ways, it was scary. 

The pouting face when she was tired, the overly cute aggressive face she gave when she was getting competitive. And then there was her love for school. Steve had shown you some of Bucky’s old school reports. 

Your daughter was starting to get the same. 

Maybe Bucky wasn’t your daughter’s father by birth, but he was her dad in every way that counted. He dried the tears, cleaned the grazed knees, carried her sleeping frame to bed. 

And after that parent-teacher meeting, it was going to become official. 

He had proposed and you said yes. 

And when your daughter had found out the next morning when you and Bucky went to pick her up from the compound, where Sam and Yelena had been put on babysitting duty, she cried. 

“Can I call you my daddy now?”

Through your own happy tears, you watched Bucky’s own fall. He was hugging your daughter just as tight as she was holding onto him. 

“I’d love nothing more, firecracker.”

[lumosflairr]

this was so good ohmygosh.

[lumosflairr]

hey guys sorry for not writing school has kicked ne in my ass and ive been reading 10000x more then writing.. anyways though happy kinktober i cant wait to read these fics (and possibly write some when i can because i miss it and will find motivation somewhere)

[chaosbarnes]

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

[lumosflairr]

guys omg thank you for 900 followers WHAT THE HECKKK I LOVE YALL SO MUCH

[lumosflairr]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

request: “heey! could you write a harry x reader where harry confesses his feelings by putting readers hand on top of his chest so they would feel how nervous/exited they make him??? looove your writing”

summary: self explanatory.

warnings: none! fluff.

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @Teddys-things @imnotnotgabrielle @Imherefortea @hutaotao @cans4dayz @divineani @scaredraccoon @iluvhrj @plumbum4 @aouoo @shadesofcoolxo @alia_avia

From the very beginning, there was something about you Harry couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t one big, obvious thing—it was the collection of little things that built up over the years. The way your laughter seemed to bubble up and fill a room, bright and unselfconscious, made him feel lighter no matter how bad his day had been. The way you never hesitated to stand up for your friends, even when you were outnumbered, gave him a kind of courage he admired deeply. You had a sharp wit, quick with a teasing remark that left him flustered, but there was also a softness to you—an instinct to notice when someone was struggling, and to quietly offer comfort without making them feel weak.

Harry liked that about you. He liked all of it, really. That you could be both bold and kind, that you never seemed afraid to speak your mind, and that you treated him like Harry—not The Boy Who Lived, not some hero, just a boy who happened to be your friend.

By third year, his feelings had already rooted themselves so deeply that he didn’t bother pretending otherwise, at least not to himself. Every Hogsmeade weekend you were right there at his side, tugging him into Honeydukes and daring him to try the most ridiculous sweets on the shelves. He found himself watching you more than the shop windows, memorizing the way your face lit up whenever you bit into something new. That was when he started realizing it wasn’t just a passing crush. Whatever this was—it wasn’t going anywhere.

Fourth year had been… complicated. The Triwizard Tournament took up so much of Harry’s life, and though you were one of the people who believed him when he said he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet, he’d kept a bit of distance. He hadn’t meant to. He just didn’t want you to get caught up in everything dangerous that seemed to follow him. But whenever you caught his eye across the Great Hall, or squeezed his arm after a particularly hard day, Harry thought maybe, just maybe, you already knew.

Now, in fifth year, it had gotten unbearable. He wanted to tell you. He needed to. But between Umbridge’s tyranny, the weight of Voldemort’s return, and the stress of training students in Dumbledore’s Army, he kept shoving it aside. Tonight, though, something inside him felt different—like if he didn’t do it soon, he’d burst.

The Room of Requirement was filled with the sound of spells being shouted, books flipping, and bursts of light from wands. You were practicing Stunning Spells with Neville, and Harry found himself watching you again. You tilted your head when you concentrated, a little crease appearing between your brows, and when you landed a perfect Stupefy you threw your arms up in triumph and laughed. That sound—it hit him square in the chest.

“You’re doing it again,” Ron muttered, elbowing him.

Harry blinked. “Doing what?”

Ron gave him a pointed look, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Staring. At her. Like you’ve just seen a pile of Chocolate Frogs come to life.”

Harry’s ears went hot. “Shut up.”

Ron snorted. “It’s painful, mate. Honestly. You’ve fancied her for ages. When are you going to do something about it?”

Harry glared at him, though his face was steadily growing redder. “I said shut up, Ron.”

“Not until you admit it.” Ron grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Go on, say it. You’re in love with her.”

Harry groaned and shoved his hand over his face. “Merlin’s sake—”

“Thought so,” Ron said smugly. Then his voice dropped a little. “You still planning on telling her? Or are you going to keep suffering in silence forever?”

Harry swallowed. His palms felt clammy just thinking about it, but he forced himself to nod. “After the meeting. I’m going to do it.”

Ron looked delighted. “Finally. Took you long enough. Get a move on, though, before someone else does.”

Harry shot him a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I am helping,” Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m giving you the push you need.“

The meeting wound down soon after, students trickling out in pairs and groups. The last of the chatter faded until it was just you and Harry left behind, gathering up scattered cushions and stray books. You stretched, arms overhead, and shot him a grin.

“Caught you staring earlier,” you said, voice light and teasing. “Care to explain yourself, Potter?”

Harry froze, heart pounding. “I wasn’t—I mean—I—”

You smirked, clearly enjoying his flustered state, and stepped closer. “You’re terrible at lying, you know. Your face gives everything away.”

He huffed out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“You’re blushing,” you observed, eyes glinting.

“Maybe,” Harry muttered, trying to summon some Gryffindor courage. His hand trembled as he reached out—not for your hand, not yet—but instead he caught your wrist gently and placed your palm flat against his chest. His heart was racing, thundering beneath your touch. “That’s what you do to me,” he said softly. “Every time you smile at me. Every time you tease me. I can’t—Merlin, I can’t even think straight half the time when you’re around.”

Your eyes widened, the teasing slipping into something softer, warmer. “Harry…”

“I’ve liked you for so long,” he went on, words spilling out before his nerves could catch up. His thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand where it rested against his chest, almost like he needed the contact to keep going. “Since third year, probably earlier if I’m honest. I didn’t even realize it at first—it just sort of crept up on me. One day I was just… happier when you were around, and then suddenly I couldn’t imagine not looking for you in every room I walked into. Couldn’t imagine a day without hearing you laugh or you making fun of me for being rubbish at keeping my hair neat.”

He laughed nervously, eyes flicking up to yours and then away again, like the weight of what he was saying was almost too much. “I’ve wanted to tell you every single time you smiled at me, or when you sat next to me in class and leaned too close, or when you’d steal my pumpkin juice and grin like you’d won something. But I was scared. Scared you’d laugh, or worse, that I’d lose you if you didn’t feel the same. And I don’t think I could bear that.”

Silence hung between you for a heartbeat, broken only by the faint crackle of torches against the walls. You didn’t pull your hand away. Instead, you pressed your palm firmer against his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath it.

A smile tugged at your lips—slow, radiant, almost triumphant. “Took you long enough, Potter,” you whispered. “I was starting to think you’d never admit it.”

Harry blinked, stunned. “Wait—you—?”

“Of course I did,” you said, grinning now, your eyes alight. “Why do you think I’ve been teasing you all these years? It wasn’t just for fun.”

Before Harry could respond, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like you were testing the waters—but Harry responded instantly, his hands flying to your waist, pulling you closer as though he never wanted to let go. Your hand, still resting on his chest, slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling around the back of his neck, holding him gently but firmly. The world outside the Room of Requirement seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you, heartbeats and warmth tangled together.

When you pulled back slightly to catch your breath, your eyes locked onto his, a playful, tender smile tugging at your lips. “Harry…” you whispered, your voice low and soft. “I’ve… I’ve felt the same way for so long.”

You cupped his face in your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as you gazed at him. “I’ve been falling for you, all these years. Every time you smiled at me, every time you tried to act all heroic or awkward around me… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought you’d never say anything, so I—” You paused, squeezing his face gently, “—so I never said anything either. But I love you, Harry. I really do.”

His green eyes widened, shining with relief, disbelief, and joy all at once. “You… you do?” he asked, voice catching.

“I do,” you repeated, pressing your forehead against his. “I love you.”

Harry laughed softly, a sound full of disbelief and happiness, and kissed you again—this time with more certainty, more freedom. His hands stayed on your waist, holding you close, while yours lingered on his face, framing him as if to make sure he was real. Every hesitant moment, every word left unspoken for years, seemed to pour into that kiss.

When you finally parted, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing a little unevenly, smiles wide and hearts racing. “Took you long enough,” you whispered, teasing gently, though your eyes were full of affection.

Harry laughed, cheeks still flushed, and pressed another soft kiss to your temple. “I can’t believe this is real,” he murmured, voice filled with awe. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”

“And now you’ve got me,” you said softly, brushing your nose against his. “So you better get used to it, Potter.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead back against yours. “I think I could manage that.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in warmth, the hum of the Room of Requirement around you fading away. Everything outside—the chaos, the danger, the world—seemed distant. All that mattered was this: you, him, and the truth that had finally been spoken.

[lumosflairr]

𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

welcome page

summary: A cozy movie night with Steve turns into a heated, tender make-out session that ends with him carrying you to bed, all love and unspoken promise.

warnings: heavy make out session, mentions/suggestive to sex. mostly fluff.

word count: 947

taglist: @iluvhrj @divineani @cans4dayz

taglist form

a/n: steve rogers has become one of my most recent obsessions hsjsjwhd PLS SEND ME REQUESTS ON THIS MAN

The movie flickered dimly across the living room walls, but you barely noticed it anymore. The couch was too warm, Steve’s arm too solid around your shoulders, his heartbeat too steady beneath your cheek. You let out a sigh, sinking deeper against him, one leg draped lazily over his.

“You’re not even watching,” Steve murmured, voice low and amused. His lips brushed your hairline with every word. “Opening credits ended and you were gone.”

You smiled against his shirt. “Not asleep. Just… resting my eyes.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, deep and soft. “That’s the same excuse you used last night when you drooled on my t-shirt.”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. “I did not.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you did,” he said, grinning like he’d just won a sparring match. “And for the record, I didn’t mind. But you owe me a shirt.”

You smacked his chest, which only made him laugh harder. His hand caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin. He held you there, gentle but unyielding, eyes sparkling like he already knew he had you exactly where he wanted.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, trying and failing to keep your pout in place.

Steve leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours, his lips hovering just out of reach. “Maybe I just enjoy you.”

Your heart stuttered. The movie faded entirely from your awareness when he kissed you—soft at first, lingering, until his hand slipped up to cup the back of your neck. The warmth of his palm there had you melting, the kiss deepening as his thumb traced along your jawline. You tugged lightly at his t-shirt, pulling him closer until his chest pressed firmly against yours.

He pulled back only an inch, his breath fanning your lips, blue eyes dark in the low light. “Still resting your eyes?” he whispered, teasing but with a husky edge that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“Shut up, Rogers,” you breathed, dragging him back in. This time the kiss wasn’t lazy—it was hungry. His hand slid from your neck down your side, fingers splaying at your waist and tugging you fully into his lap. You straddled him easily, your knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side.

Steve groaned low in his throat, breaking the kiss just to tilt his head back and look at you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place with effortless strength. “You know,” he said, voice rougher now, “I was trying to be a gentleman and let you nap.”

“And I’m not tired anymore,” you shot back, lips grazing along the sharp line of his jaw.

That earned you another groan, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath catch. He tipped your chin up, reclaiming your mouth with a kiss that was all heat and no hesitation this time. The movie played on, completely forgotten.

That kiss unraveled you. Steve’s mouth moved against yours with a hunger you weren’t used to seeing from him—gentle always, patient always, but now he let himself want, and it showed in the way his hands slid from your hips up your back, broad palms spanning over your body like he couldn’t get enough of touching you.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he shifted, pulling you flush against him, and his tongue brushed yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that made your pulse skip. He groaned at the sound you made, fingers tightening just enough to hold you exactly where he wanted you.

Your hands threaded through his hair, tugging lightly, and he broke the kiss with a shaky laugh, his forehead falling to rest against yours. His lips were pink, his breath uneven, and his voice was low when he whispered, “Sweetheart… if we keep this up…”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his jaw, still catching your breath. “Then maybe we should keep it up.”

That earned you a look—soft, adoring, but laced with something hotter, something he didn’t quite hide. His thumb stroked your hipbone slowly, as though grounding himself.

“Can I…” He swallowed hard, eyes flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Can I take you to bed?” The question was gentle, reverent, but the way his hands held you betrayed just how much he wanted you to say yes.

For a beat, the world felt suspended—the muted movie, the city lights filtering through the blinds, his steady heartbeat under your palms. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, but with a certainty that made his breath hitch.

“Yes,” you whispered against his mouth. “Take me to bed, Steve.”

He smiled into the kiss, that boyish grin laced with something fierce, before he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing at all. The movie still played, forgotten, as he carried you down the hall—both of you tangled in laughter, kisses, and the quiet.

[lumosflairr]

STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST

★:fluff ꩜: smut ʚɞ: angst ୨ৎ: humorous

- movie night (★): A cozy movie night with Steve turns into a heated, tender make-out session that ends with him carrying you to bed. [contains suggestive content, but no smut]

[lumosflairr]

𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

welcome page

summary: A cozy movie night with Steve turns into a heated, tender make-out session that ends with him carrying you to bed, all love and unspoken promise.

warnings: heavy make out session, mentions/suggestive to sex. mostly fluff.

word count: 947

taglist: @iluvhrj @divineani @cans4dayz

taglist form

a/n: steve rogers has become one of my most recent obsessions hsjsjwhd PLS SEND ME REQUESTS ON THIS MAN

The movie flickered dimly across the living room walls, but you barely noticed it anymore. The couch was too warm, Steve’s arm too solid around your shoulders, his heartbeat too steady beneath your cheek. You let out a sigh, sinking deeper against him, one leg draped lazily over his.

“You’re not even watching,” Steve murmured, voice low and amused. His lips brushed your hairline with every word. “Opening credits ended and you were gone.”

You smiled against his shirt. “Not asleep. Just… resting my eyes.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, deep and soft. “That’s the same excuse you used last night when you drooled on my t-shirt.”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. “I did not.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you did,” he said, grinning like he’d just won a sparring match. “And for the record, I didn’t mind. But you owe me a shirt.”

You smacked his chest, which only made him laugh harder. His hand caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin. He held you there, gentle but unyielding, eyes sparkling like he already knew he had you exactly where he wanted.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, trying and failing to keep your pout in place.

Steve leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours, his lips hovering just out of reach. “Maybe I just enjoy you.”

Your heart stuttered. The movie faded entirely from your awareness when he kissed you—soft at first, lingering, until his hand slipped up to cup the back of your neck. The warmth of his palm there had you melting, the kiss deepening as his thumb traced along your jawline. You tugged lightly at his t-shirt, pulling him closer until his chest pressed firmly against yours.

He pulled back only an inch, his breath fanning your lips, blue eyes dark in the low light. “Still resting your eyes?” he whispered, teasing but with a husky edge that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“Shut up, Rogers,” you breathed, dragging him back in. This time the kiss wasn’t lazy—it was hungry. His hand slid from your neck down your side, fingers splaying at your waist and tugging you fully into his lap. You straddled him easily, your knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side.

Steve groaned low in his throat, breaking the kiss just to tilt his head back and look at you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place with effortless strength. “You know,” he said, voice rougher now, “I was trying to be a gentleman and let you nap.”

“And I’m not tired anymore,” you shot back, lips grazing along the sharp line of his jaw.

That earned you another groan, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath catch. He tipped your chin up, reclaiming your mouth with a kiss that was all heat and no hesitation this time. The movie played on, completely forgotten.

That kiss unraveled you. Steve’s mouth moved against yours with a hunger you weren’t used to seeing from him—gentle always, patient always, but now he let himself want, and it showed in the way his hands slid from your hips up your back, broad palms spanning over your body like he couldn’t get enough of touching you.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he shifted, pulling you flush against him, and his tongue brushed yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that made your pulse skip. He groaned at the sound you made, fingers tightening just enough to hold you exactly where he wanted you.

Your hands threaded through his hair, tugging lightly, and he broke the kiss with a shaky laugh, his forehead falling to rest against yours. His lips were pink, his breath uneven, and his voice was low when he whispered, “Sweetheart… if we keep this up…”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his jaw, still catching your breath. “Then maybe we should keep it up.”

That earned you a look—soft, adoring, but laced with something hotter, something he didn’t quite hide. His thumb stroked your hipbone slowly, as though grounding himself.

“Can I…” He swallowed hard, eyes flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Can I take you to bed?” The question was gentle, reverent, but the way his hands held you betrayed just how much he wanted you to say yes.

For a beat, the world felt suspended—the muted movie, the city lights filtering through the blinds, his steady heartbeat under your palms. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, but with a certainty that made his breath hitch.

“Yes,” you whispered against his mouth. “Take me to bed, Steve.”

He smiled into the kiss, that boyish grin laced with something fierce, before he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing at all. The movie still played, forgotten, as he carried you down the hall—both of you tangled in laughter, kisses, and the quiet.

[lumosflairr]

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬..

welcome page

summary: After a long night on a mission, Peter sneaks through his girlfriend’s window (for probably the 256th time.)

word count: 2.3k

taglist: @shadesofcoolxo @scaredraccoon @plumbum4 @moramaybe @iluvhrj @cans4dayz @hutaotao @seresinslady @imherefortea @alia_ava

a/n: this fic is short because im trying to get back into writing. pls go to my welcome page and find my masterlist for more fics! Thank you for you all being so patient with me and the break i took. I appreciate you all tremendously :)

The soft hum of the city seeped through your bedroom window, a quiet, constant reminder that life outside your room carried on even as you finally allowed yourself a moment to unwind. You ran your fingers through your hair, letting the bun you’d been wearing all day fall loose, strands spilling freely around your shoulders. The knots and stiffness from the day dissolved as you brushed them out, your fingertips tracing the lines of your scalp with soothing precision.

The makeup wipes on your nightstand called to you, and you picked one up, the cool texture sending a faint shiver down your spine. Carefully, you removed the remnants of the day—mascara smudges, traces of eyeliner, and the faintest blush left from hours spent in the bustling Stark Tower. Each swipe of the cloth against your skin was oddly calming, a rhythm you could almost meditate to. With the last trace gone, you tossed the used wipe aside, blinking at your reflection in the mirror. A soft smile curved your lips; you looked peaceful, unburdened.

For a long moment, your thoughts drifted to Peter. You knew he was out on a mission tonight, swinging through the city, tackling whatever danger had arisen. Normally, you’d feel that tight knot of worry in your stomach, the same one that had haunted you the first nights he’d gone out in the suit. But ever since your father had started helping Peter refine his suits, giving him that extra layer of safety and tech, and ensuring either you or Tony would be notified if anything went wrong, the fear had eased. It wasn’t gone entirely—some things never were—but it was tempered, dulled enough that you could breathe and let your mind wander elsewhere.

Sliding under the covers, the sheets wrapping warmly around your body, you were just about to tuck yourself in when a faint, unexpected tap tap tap at the window froze you mid-breath.

Sitting up, your pulse skipped a beat. You pushed the blankets aside and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet pressing against the cool floor as you walked across your room. Each step brought a soft creak, but it didn’t matter. Your curiosity was stronger than the sleepiness pressing at your eyelids.

You paused at the window, your fingers brushing the glass as you leaned closer, straining to see what—or who—was outside. Your heart skipped another beat when the outline of a familiar figure appeared on the fire escape. Peter. He looked slightly worn from the night’s mission, backpack slung over one shoulder, his suit showing faint scuffs from swinging through the city streets.

With a teasing smile, you reached for the latch and slid the window open, the cool night air brushing against your face. “You’re crawling in this late, Parker?” you called softly, amusement threading your voice. “You know bedtime doesn’t start until—oh, I don’t know—midnight?”

Peter rolled his eyes, though a small, nervous smile tugged at his lips. “I had to see you,” he said, voice low, slightly strained as he tried to sound casual. “Mission stuff… it’s done. Everything’s fine. And I just—I just needed to make sure you were okay.”

You stepped closer to the sill, resting one hand lightly on the frame. “Well, you’re here now. Come on in, superhero.”

He hesitated at the edge, giving you a small, shy laugh before climbing fully through the window. His shoes scuffed lightly against the floor, careful not to knock anything over. His backpack bumped against his back as he straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, as if the gesture alone could erase the grime clinging to him.

“You’re the one sneaking in through my window at all hours,” you teased, stepping a little closer. “Don’t act like it’s heroic. You’re lucky I like you.”

Peter’s lips twitched into a small smile, and he shifted his weight nervously. “I—uh, yeah. Well… I needed to see you. Couldn’t just… wait till morning.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m that important, huh?”

He nodded quickly. “Absolutely. More important than sleep. More important than everything else.”

You laughed softly, stepping closer until your shoulders brushed. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you love it,” he countered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I might,” you admitted, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “But only sometimes.”

The two of you stood there for a long moment, close enough to feel each other’s warmth. The faint light from the city spilled across the floor, highlighting his flushed cheeks and the faint dirt streaks along his jaw. Your fingers itched to touch his face, to brush away the grime from the night’s mission.

“Mind if I?” you asked, holding up the last makeup wipe from your nightstand.

Peter raised an eyebrow, mock suspicion in his expression. “You’re going to… wipe my face with a makeup wipe?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, smirking. “Your heroic cheeks are covered in dirt and who knows what else. It’s gross. You’re lucky I’m kind.”

He groaned dramatically, flopping back slightly, and you stepped closer, gently wiping the grime along his jaw and forehead. “There,” you said softly, brushing a stray streak from his temple. “Good as new.”

Peter shivered slightly at your touch but didn’t pull away. “You’re… ridiculous,” he muttered, though the faint smile betraying him softened your heart.

“You’re ridiculous,” you shot back immediately, grinning. He made a face, and you laughed, the sound filling the quiet room.

“So… you didn’t worry at all?” Peter asked quietly, his fingers brushing the edge of your hand. “I mean… about me being out there?”

“I worried,” you admitted softly. “Just… not as much as I used to. I know you’re careful. I know Dad’s tech keeps you safe. And I… trust you.”

Peter’s eyes softened. “You make it sound so easy, but I get it. I mean… you’re brave, you know? You’ve always worried about me, but you stay calm. Somehow.”

“I’ve had practice,” you teased, nudging his shoulder lightly. “And okay, maybe a little help from dad. But you’re still kind of a disaster sometimes, you know?”

He grinned, mock offended. “A disaster? Me? I’m a trained superhero.”

“You call tripping over a trash can while chasing a bad guy trained?” you countered, laughing.

“Hey! That was a tactical maneuver,” he said, raising a finger. “I was testing the city’s agility requirements.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Sure, tactical. I’ll let you have that one.”

For a while, you stayed like that, standing close, brushing fingers across arms, shoulders, and hair. The air between you felt electric, the quiet intimacy of the night pressing in. Then, without a word, Peter leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, tentative kiss. You responded instantly, your hands finding his shoulders, laughter bubbling up as his lips moved against yours.

When you pulled back, foreheads resting together, his eyes searched yours. “Can I… please stay the night?” he whispered, voice tinged with vulnerability.

Your brow furrowed slightly, worry flashing. “What about Aunt May?”

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek softly. “I just… I need to be with you tonight. Just us.”

A smile curved your lips, and you nodded. “Okay, Parker. But only because you asked so nicely.”

The two of you finally moved to the bed together, a gentle, comforting cocoon against the chaos of the outside world. He curled slightly against you, hands finding yours, fingers lacing in easy intimacy.

“You’re warm,” Peter murmured, nuzzling your neck. “And safe. I like that. With you.”

“I like it too,” you whispered, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You’re kind of my favorite chaos,” you teased.

“Favorite chaos?” he repeated with mock offense. “You’re supposed to say I’m perfect.”

“You are,” you said softly. “But I prefer my superheroes a little messy.”

Soft conversation continued, punctuated by laughter and quiet whispers. He described moments from the mission, and you teased him about every stumble or heroic overreaction. Each blush, each laugh made your heart swell. Eventually, the playful teasing led to another kiss, small and sweet, lingering just long enough to send warmth spiraling through both of you.

He nuzzled into your shoulder, and you stroked his hair, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand.

“Do you… really think I did okay tonight?” he asked, voice muffled against your hair.

“You did amazing,” you assured him. “And even if you didn’t, I’d still be proud.”

“And you’d still let me stay?” he teased softly.

“Absolutely,” you said, laughing quietly. “But only if you promise to stop calling yourself a disaster.”

Peter groaned dramatically, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. “No promises.”

Eventually, sleep claimed him. His breathing slowed, his body relaxing fully against yours. You stayed awake a little longer, simply.